Lifestyle
by Traxits
Summary: Reno was a lifestyle.


**Title**: Lifestyle  
><strong>Author<strong>: Traxits  
><strong>Fandom<strong>: Final Fantasy VII  
><strong>Rating<strong>: General audiences  
><strong>Content Notes<strong>: Chose not to use notes/warnings.  
><strong>Word Count<strong>: 774 words.  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Reno was a lifestyle.  
><strong>Author's Note(s)<strong>: Written for "Three Weeks for Dreamwidth."

**[[ ... One-Shot ... ]]**

Reno was a lifestyle. Rude realized this just a few days after he'd met the redhead, and was only reminded of it the first time he'd gone out with Reno. There were clubs that Reno liked to frequent, places that were only a step above the shadiest hole-in-the-walls under the plate. Reno joked that they reminded him of home, of his old days. Rude had no idea who Reno had been before he put on that blue suit, but then again, it didn't matter. Whoever any of them had been was long since gone. Dead the moment they'd donned blue.

Reno though, he held onto things. Trinkets and memories alike, habits that he didn't want to let go of. He spoke with that distinctive drawl that Rude recognized as being from under-Four, used phrases that made more than one executive put a hand over their mouth or order Tseng to clean that redheaded bastard up. Rude couldn't stop the faint grin as he watched Reno rubbing up against some pretty partner he'd picked up on the dance floor. As though anyone controlled Reno. As though Tseng wanted to change him.

Tseng might not have minded cleaning him up, but changing him too much would risk damaging him. And the last thing that any of them wanted was to damage him, to change him where he wasn't quite as good at what he did.

Going out with Reno— beyond simply going to the bar for a beer— was an adventure. It always had been. Not that Rude couldn't keep up or even had difficulties. Most of his problem with going out with Reno was that Reno tended to be the handful.

Another round of shots, and then Reno was back at the bar with Rude, hand wrapped around Rude's wrist as he tried to pull Rude onto the dance floor. Rude sighed, considered his options— Reno could throw a hellacious temper tantrum if pushed— and decided against arguing. He turned up his glass, bracing himself as much as finishing it off, and let Reno pull him out there. At least two pretty girls and a pretty boy were all waiting for them, and Reno popped off something about the party having arrived. Rude rolled his eyes. Reno would, without a doubt, take all three of them home if he could convince them that he could show them all an equally good time. It wouldn't have been the first time.

Rude had lost track of how many times he'd pushed through a dance floor only to find Reno peeling clothes off all while cheerfully singing along to whatever techno beat was playing, generally with at least two partners cheering him on. Clothes were something Reno spent a lot of his paycheck on. Not because he bought expensive ones, but because he never managed to keep up with them. Rude had long since stopped allowing Reno to 'borrow' shirts. Not that his shirts fit Reno anyway.

But Rude wasn't in the mood to share, wasn't in the mood to watch Reno careen down his self-destructive path to bliss. He smiled faintly at Reno's little trio of potentials— wasn't their fault Reno had chosen _them_— and he wrapped an arm over Reno's shoulders and walked him on out of the club. Reno protested, but he knew better than to really fight with Rude, not when they'd both been drinking. In fact, they made it all the way to the car before Reno peeled away from him. Rude, not in the mood to argue, simply caught that ponytail in his hand, pulled Reno back to him. For a moment, they both simply looked at each other, Reno blinking away a haze that came from too much alcohol.

Then Rude pressed him against the car, tilted his head back and kissed him. Reno made some sort of soft noise, something between a whine and a moan, and Rude pulled back before Reno encouraged him into something that he knew he didn't want to deliver right there in the parking lot. He murmured a low, "Get in the car," and Reno's eyes slid open.

"Shoulda said you were in the mood for a redhead," Reno managed, and he might have slurred the words together just a little. Rude, used to deciphering that slur, simply opened the passenger door and looked at him pointedly. Reno pushed himself off of the car and leaned against Rude, "I'd have found you one." But he sank into the car all the same.

Rude got behind the wheel, cranked the car, and replied with, "Didn't want some other redhead. I've got this one."

Reno laughed.


End file.
